


I Interpret Dreams for Beer

by GalacticAesir



Category: John Dies at the End - David Wong
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble, Dream Sequences with Vague Meanings, Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 21:44:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19980997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalacticAesir/pseuds/GalacticAesir
Summary: A short drabble based on what-ifs.





	I Interpret Dreams for Beer

Two Daves stood in the snow.

It was packed high around them, trenches dug in where they had walked, and then stopped. Snow floated down from the sky in thick clumps, catching on eyelids and weighing down on shoulders. It was dark out, so dark it was impossible to make out anything outside the small spotlight of light where they stood. It was intimate. Private. As if no one else was watching.

One of the Daves had a gun. It was pointed at the other who wore an expression of shock and confusion at the sight of his twin. A beat. Snow continued to pile on.

Then, the Dave holding the gun smiled, and then laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed and the other shivered. Snow accumulated on his head and then slipped down his neck but it was the hollow laughter that chilled him, gut catching as he looked at his other. As he laughed, Dave brought the gun up to his chin, tilted it upwards underneath his jaw, and fired.

POP!

The gunshot cut the laughter sharply as the explosion ripped upwards, rending flesh and skull and brain matter into the sky. But Dave wasn’t done firing. The finger kept twitching on the trigger and Dave kept unnaturally still as he unloaded the entire clip into his skull.

POP! POP! POP! POP! POP!

What remained was a gory mess, a headless corpse, standing on two feet. Brain matter and blood splattered on the snow, steaming with heat. A few strips of flesh, somehow still attached to the neck flopped over his chest, some remnants of skull still clinging. A bit of spine was visible where the neck should have been, squirting blood onto a winter jacket.

Slowly, much too slowly, the body tipped over backwards and fell onto the snow. Dave noticed then that the other wasn’t wearing any shoes. Frostbitten toes glared up at him.

They were bare.

Dave woke up.

**Author's Note:**

> Dave then proceeded to tumble out of bed, puke and have an existential crisis that would last the next 8.3 days.


End file.
